Letters From the Ark
by Rinsom Lost
Summary: The Ark Project, a fleet of generation ships, was designed as mankind's last hope. For the inhabitants though, finding and keeping hope might seem a more difficult struggle than the one they left behind. A series of short works. Ensemble cast. More characters will be added as things progress.
1. Dark

"It's so dark all the time."

Matthew looked up in shock where he sat on the concrete floor, book in hand. It was the most Alfred had said in a week, since before the bombs had went off and they'd been pulled to the safety of Ark 1.

Arthur got up from the chair to sit beside Alfred on the bunk. "Alfred," he said, his voice tight, combing his fingers (trembling, always trembling now) through dirty blonde hair, "It's always light. They're on, even when it's supposed to be dark. There's light everywhere, Love."

Alfred shook his head, "It's dark," and curled in on himself, turning his head into the mattress.

Matthew looked back down, fingering the burns scattered across his arms, red and raw and blistering. Even if Arthur was right, he knew what Alfred meant. The lights overhead were nothing like the warm summer glow they'd left behind. It was sterile and cold, shading everything with a sickly pallor. And the other steady warmth in his life, his brother's seemingly constant light, was gone as well he feared. The radiant smile lost, the joyful gleam of his eyes vanished, replaced with a haunted stare.

He thought maybe he would see, if he could stand to put down the book for more than two minutes, if he dared to look in a mirror, that it was another thing he and his twin shared now, because he could feel himself slipping too, silence and worry and cold taking hold.

He clutched the paper and ink, looked away from his twin's eyes, from Arthur's once sure hands, and wondered, not for the first time, how long it would be until their refuge, their ark of salvation, bleed them all dry.


	2. Alfred Flew

Alfred flew.

Behind and beyond closed eyes, he flew across blue skies.

Sometimes on the wings of great golden eagles, wind carrying their cries through mountains and ravines, power and strength soaring through him as they soared ever upwards with the air currants.

Sometimes he controlled the great speed and agility of a jet, spinning and whirling and diving with the ground rushing up to meet him and then arching up and over  
and over.

Sometimes he was as small as a mouse, resting on the back of a sparrow, gazing at familiar streets, flying from the tree in their backyard, to the school, and downtown and back again, soaking in every fragmented piece of memory, every scent and sound and drop of life before it all drained away.

And sometimes he flew on nothing at all, save for his own freewill, floating high above it all with barely a whisper between him and the clouds.

Alfred flew.

Because his world was now bent metal and hurt and recycled oxygen.

They'd told him it would be a great adventure, to seek the stars, to leave behind the earthly constraints and fly out beyond even the deepest blue of the sky. To fly on forever, and ever, it seemed.

It was a lie.

Because he knew what it was to fly, to step up and off the ground, into the waiting rush and caress of air, and he knew the truth of sitting in this great hulking, bunker.

He'd never even see the sky again, let alone touch it.

Alfred closed his eyes  
and flew.

* * *

**Author's Note:** I forgot to post this chapter on anything other than tumblr when I wrote it, so here it is now. To be honest I thought I'd posted it at the time, and then panicked when I couldn't even find a copy on my computer, let alone ffn or ao3.

Okay, so a bit of info about the piece as a whole: to be completely honest, it's a bit of an experiment for me. Flash fiction has always intrigued me, and while this piece as a whole certainly can't be called that, I wanted to see how well I could tell a larger story utilizing some of the stylistic elements. So the incredibly short chapters? That's going to be the norm. I know long updates, the ones you can really sink your teeth into, typically feel more satisfying, but I hope you enjoy this piece and its microfiction chapters anyway. As always, thank you for reading, and thank you in advance for any sort of response. Your criticism/encouragement helps me grow as a writer and keeps me going, especially when writing feels difficult (i.e. impossible).


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